PunchOut! The Story of Little Mac
by Ferrebee
Summary: Little Mac, one of the most famous fighters in  WVBA history. His most famous fights, his worst losses, all known to the people. But what of the man?


"Lets go! Dodge Left!" A voice cried out.

The boxer's vision was blurred already, seeing the gloved fist of his opponent, its wet leather touching and pressing into his face with such force, his vision turned out like a light. His groan became audible, a cry of pain and bewhilderment.

His body hit the cool canvas with a defining _THUD_.

"1...2...3..."

-"_Get up...C'mon! Open your damn eyes and get up!"_

"5..."

His eyes opened, and a breath of musty, sweaty air came into his lungs. He gasped and quickly climbed back up, his knees week for just a moment.

"...8...9..."

The Referee stopped his count to check the boxer's gloves.

"You didn't do anything did you? You okay to continue? Hey! I'm talking to you. Do...You...Want...To...Continue...?"

The fighers' eyes, slightly glazed over with concussion, blinked and came into focus. He saw the short moustached italian man, who was checking his gloves. He took a deep breath and looked into the eyes of his opponent.

Aran Ryan stood there, keeping himself limber as he grinned. "Come on now, laddy. Just say you're done and we can be over with this. Unless you're fixing for another beat-down."

This angered the fighter. His fists tightened up inside of his gloves, his determination became steeled.

"I'm ready, sir. Lets continue." He said as he popped both gloves together, getting back into his fighting stance.

"okay... FIGHT!"

Aran Ryan was surprised by the fighter's determination. He chuckled and walked back to the middle of the ring, his stance relaxed and confident. He played with the fighter, reaching out to gently tap his head with his glove, testing the waters and his fighters patience once again. The figher would have none of it, as he closed the distance immediately, gave an iron left hook into Ryan's rib. The impact was felt by both the fighter and Aran Ryan. Then came the _POP_ from his ribcage, the grimace of pain from Aran Ryan's face. The Fighter then swung at the rib one more time, the _SNAP_ of his rib finally breaking heard between the two men. Aran Gasped and huffed in pain as the Fighter gave a 1-2 combo to his face, and closed it with a hard right uppercut.

There wasn't even a signal of Aran Ryan's lights being turned off. It switched off like a button. He was conscious, then nothing. His eyes widened, the pupils dialated, and his body became limp. His body wet with sweat crumpled to the floor like a dummy. Its was obvious he wouldn't be getting up.

The Ref saw this and waved his hands furiously in the air. He walked up to the fighter, and with both hands, raised his right glove in the air, announcing him the winner. The bell rang viciously, announcing the end of the bout.

"The winner, by knockout in 4 minutes, 12 seconds, Michael "Little Mac" Dixon!"

Little mac wasn't sure what had happened. Something had clicked in his head at that moment, and he went into auto-pilot. Aran Ryan was on the Canvas, blood seeping from his mouth and nose, gasping for air from his broken ribs, and Mac was standing. Observing quietly.

As he climbed out of the ring and walked back to the locker room, he undid the tape wrapping around his knuckles. Blood stained his fists, and he could taste iron in his mouth. He sat down on the bench, and took a deep breath, as his vision blurred back and forth. Ryan had given him a ringer, He gasped and took another deep breath, focusing his vision on his hands. He then moved slowly to undo his boots and strip himself out of his trunks.

As he stood in the hot water, he could feel searing pain from his head to his toes. Bruises that would develop later during the week. He cleaned himself and dried off, walking to his locker to put on his forest green buisness suit.

As he fixed his tie, he looked into the mirror a bit closer, seeing the black eye developing on his right eye. The blue in his iris shined defiantly in the dim light of the locker room. He ran a hand through his blond hair, and fixed it, letting it air-dry.

As he stepped outside of the arena, gym bag in hand, he looked up to see the night sky of New York. He raised his hand to hail for a Taxi, got in, and drove back to his home, a small apartment in the Bronx. As he climbed up the steps to his apartment, he unlocked and opened the door, dropping the bag at the doorway, closing the door behind him. He sighed, removed his suit coat, and sat down in his sofa, turning on the T.V. He had come home just in time to catch the 10pm news.

"...Whats new in the wide world of sports Terry?"

-"Thanks Miranda, well in the world of boxing, the rough and tumble Aran Ryan took on New York's finest, Michael 'Little Mac' Dixon! In the first round, there wasn't much going on until near the end, where Ryan started to grab Dixon. In the middle of the second round, however, it seemed Aran Ryan had defeated the defending champion with a hard right jab to his face. Dixon goes down, and it looks like his title would be revoked, but!...He gets up, amazingly, and continues the fight, and less than 20 seconds later...Ryan goes down, and isn't getting up again. An amazing bout by our favorite fighter in New-"

Mac turned off the T.V. He sighed and walked into the kitchen, making a peanut butter sandwich. His cell phone vibrated in his pants in the midst of a chew. He sighed and swallowed, grabbing the phone and answering it.

"Yeah...?" He answered, the fatigue in his voice present.

-"Mac, its your mother! Why don't you sound so happy to hear me, my baby boy!" The feminine voice wailed through the phone.

"Hi ma..."He said, smiling a bit as he said this. "You saw the fight?"

-"Of course I did! You fought amazingly, my boy! You look so handsome. I've got Jennifer from the salon down the street asking me for your phone number, and she won't let it go, she's just dying to have you, bubby!"

"I can assume as much, ma. Listen, I gotta get some sleep for workout tomorrow. Give Jenny my number, tell her to give me a call sometime, okay?"

-"Mac."

"Ma."

-"You know how this works. You have to call her. Don't be giving that sweet girl the runaround, bubby."

"Okay."

-"AND STOP THAT SMOKING, IT'LL COME BACK TO YOU IN THE END, OKAY?"

"Yeah. Love ya, ma...Bye."

With that, Mac chuckled and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, pulling out out of the pack, and began to smoke it.

"Whaddya know, ma...This shit's the only thing keeping me sane..." He said to himself.

After finishing his cigarette, he looked to his calendar. Wednesday was 3 days away. He had an interview then. Lucky. No training. Just recovery for the next 4 days.


End file.
